Those Things We Don't Say
by LadyKatie
Summary: Wilson visits House every week after the events of the season 5 finale. As he struggles to help House fix his life he must also confront the problems in their friendship and his own feelings. House/Wilson pre-slash/slash. Major S5 spoilers!
1. Part One

**Summary: Wilson visits House every week after the events of the season 5 finale. Wilson must deal with House's condition as well as his own long kept secret. House/Wilson pre-slash/slash. Major S5 spoilers! Rated T for language.**

**Disclaimer: House M.D. and characters are the property of David Shore, Fox, ect. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.**

**Author's Note: There will be six parts to this. Each part will be posted just a few days after the last one, no more than a week apart. The story is finished; I just need extra time to obsess over editing and details. For some reason this story is giving me trouble and I feel like I haven't been able to get it right.**

**Those Things We Don't Say  
****By LadyKatie**

**Part 1**

House had said only one thing during the entire drive to Mayfield.

"You'll get my mail?" He'd asked quite suddenly when they were within a couple miles of their destination.

Wilson glanced at him, but he was still staring out the window as if he hadn't said anything at all. "Of course." He struggled not to say more. House wouldn't have appreciated any extra sentimentality. He wouldn't want the verbal reassurance that things would turn out okay, so Wilson remained silent until they parked the car in front of the hospital.

"Do you want me to come in?"

He shook his head.

"I'll give you a couple days to get settled and then visit if they let me."

A nod was his only response. The rest of it was all done in silence. House wordlessly handed over his personal possessions. It wasn't that they didn't have anything to say to each other. There was actually too much to say and no good way to say it. So Wilson watched his friend walk away, knowing that it was for the best, yet feeling as if his world was coming to a crashing end. Just before the door shut House looked back out at him and he had to fight the urge to run to him. His first instinct was always to comfort people, but House would call it false hope. So he stood and watched.

**Week Five**

Wilson kept his promise and visited a few days after House's voluntary commitment. The worst of the detox was over after forty-eight hours, but it took several days for him to keep much food down. Even after that, Amber remained. It was what House had feared, the reason he had chosen Mayfield above any other rehab facility; it wasn't just the vicodin. Wilson hand delivered House's medical records as well as the results of the tests that he had performed the previous week in their attempt to diagnose the hallucinations.

The problem with the position Wilson was in was that he knew House too well. He knew House's entire medical history as well as he did his own. All of the factual knowledge of it was stored in his memory and as each medical crisis was added to the pile he didn't have to think of it as a whole. But when he looked through the huge file, the history spelled out in black and white, it was a little overwhelming. He came to the conclusion the Mayfield doctors did; any one of these emotional or physical events could be responsible for House's current condition. With all of them combined, it was a wonder House hadn't thrown in the towel already. The physical and psychological beatings House had taken, just in the previous year, were more than anyone could be expected to handle.

After reviewing House's medical records, evaluating his mental state and interviewing Wilson about House's behavior, Dr. Beck, House's attending, pointed out the clue that Wilson had forgotten. House had gone to a psychiatrist just a few weeks ago. Somehow his mind had been telling him something was wrong and he tried to do something about it. House, at the end of his rope, consented to have his records from that doctor sent to Mayfield. They soon found that the psychiatrist, Dr. Mason, believed that House suffered from, at the very least, major depressive disorder for which he thought medication would be necessary. House had only gone there twice, but had made an impression nonetheless; Mason was so concerned about his mental state that he made notes in the file about the calls that his office made to try to persuade House to return.

With this new knowledge and negative results for every physical test Beck performed, they began to believe that the problem was predominantly psychological. Although the vicodin hadn't caused it, the long term narcotic abuse was possibly a contributing factor and even a symptom. His leg pain and drug use had always gotten worse whenever House was under considerable stress. And though House would have never admitted to being affected by such things the stress of dealing with death and loss could have been enough alone to break him.

Dr. Beck told Wilson that there had likely been small symptoms that nobody noticed getting progressively worse over the year. House's normal behavior was erratic enough that it would have been easy to dismiss changes. And, Wilson thought guiltily, their friendship hadn't been one hundred percent back to normal. He felt that maybe if he had spent more time with House then maybe he would have picked up on something. Or maybe if he had never left after Amber died, then House wouldn't have gotten this bad at all. There really was no end to his guilt.

House was given medication for anxiety and depression, but so far all it had done was make him tired and withdrawn. They had a numbing effect that both House and Wilson hated. House answered everything in one or two words and there were never two sides to their conversations. It was like an entirely different person was residing in House's body and it was then that Wilson finally tried to assure them both that it would be okay, but they knew that he couldn't promise that. If comfort had been false hope when House first arrived, it was ridiculous fantasy at this point.

But on this, Wilson's fifth visit to Mayfield and House's fifth week as a patient, Dr. Beck saw Wilson before entering the visitor's area and informed him that House was extremely alert that day. He was speaking during their session, which he had previously refused to do, and the doctor felt like they had finally made progress. After weeks of near silence the prospect of actually having House back to normal had Wilson practically skipping into the visitor's room. He hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath, hoping that House would get better. He didn't know how much of his own mental well being was tied into House's condition.

House was already waiting for him at the couch in the corner as he had been the four previous times. Unlike those times however, House looked up at him as he approached and Wilson could see emotion in his eyes in place of that dull, lifelessness. Wilson sat down.

"How are you?"

House merely nodded.

"Your doctor said you were doing better this week."

House winced and looked away. "I'm glad you're here."

"Of course I'm here. I told you I wasn't just going to just dump you here and leave."

House nodded again. On Wilson's first visit he said that he would come every day if House wanted. House hadn't replied, but Wilson vowed to come at least once per week until House told him otherwise.

"Even you can't keep it up forever."

Wilson frowned. "No, I'll do it for as long as you're here."

"I know my level of neediness is impressive, even for me, but you'll find another pet project who's just as needy. Probably a brunette with size D's. Then you won't have to make the drive every week."

This irritated Wilson. "For God's sake, House, drop it. I get it; I eat neediness. This is hard for me too, you know. But I'm not going to move on to the next neediest person in a hundred mile radius." Wilson swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat. "I _will_ come to see you. Every day if you need me here."

House let out a humorless laugh and shook his head. "You idiot. This is your chance to make a clean break from me. You don't even have to tell me we're not friends this time; just walk out. I can't stop you from in here. You should go. Don't let your guilt tell you otherwise."

"You just can't accept that someone cares that much about you."

House rolled his eyes. "Just think, if my dad hadn't died you wouldn't have had to come back at all. You could be enjoying your life with no idea that I was in the nut house."

"I came back because… you're my friend. You know I would have come back eventually whether your dad died or not."

"_Do_ I know that?"

Probably not. It was one of the million things that they never said. Wilson had never really explained why he left, he wasn't sure he even knew. He had never apologized either. But how on earth did they have that conversation? It so was much easier to pretend like everything was okay.

They fell silent as House stared out the window. When he spoke again it was with an uncharacteristic quietness, still not look at Wilson.

"You think you're responsible for what happened to me. Prescribing my drugs all these years, Amber, the deep-brain stimulation. You think they're all connected and that means that they're connected to you. And you feel guilty because of it."

Wilson didn't answer him. He didn't really need to; they both knew it was true. But as deep as his guilt ran, it had nothing to do with why he was here now. House took a deep breath and spoke again quietly.

"I would have died to save her. I should have if the world was fair. She deserved to live. She was better than me and I knew that. Obviously you did too."

Wilson shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach now. "No. That's not true."

House looked over at him then questioningly, as if to ask how he was wrong. But how could Wilson explain his selfish decision back then? He'd purposely avoided this conversation because he knew there was no excuse for what he did. He knew that the deep brain stimulation could kill House, but he asked him to do it anyway. He put Amber's life above House's and there was no suitable explanation for that.

"It's okay," he said. "I don't blame you." He looked over at the nurse near the door. "I'm ready to go back to my room now."

"Wait, what? I just got here."

"I know."

"The doctor says you're doing better. It's the first time you're really talking in weeks. I wanted to talk to you."

House shook his head. "I'm talking because my body is getting used to the drugs they're giving me. But they didn't cure me. Unless Amber is actually sitting next to you." Wilson breathed in sharply. "Just because I talked to the shrink doesn't mean I'm better. I can't get better. It's over."

"House…"

House stood and looked down at him sadly. The emptiness was back.

"I don't want you to come back here. Stop visiting. Without me around maybe you can finally have a life. Get a girlfriend or something." He tried to smile. It seemed there was one last thing he wanted to say, but he was having a hard time with it. He glanced over to the side of the room and Wilson knew the hallucination was speaking. Finally he looked Wilson in the eye. "I only wanted you to know that I don't blame you. It was my own damn fault for not being able to say no to you." He took a deep breath and looked away. "I would have done just about anything for you, Jimmy. Even if it landed me in here, I don't regret that."

He turned away, following the nurse to the door, leaving Wilson to watch in horror as it all sunk in. This was House's goodbye. He would never say anything like that under normal conditions. He would never make himself so vulnerable unless he intended it to be the last thing he ever said to Wilson. When he said that he didn't want him to return, he meant it quite literally.

"House, wait."

But he kept going. The nurse was just opening the security door with her code. Wilson hauled himself off the couch. He couldn't let House go like that. He couldn't let House shut him out.

"House! You're not going to just give up!"

He didn't turn back and the nurse was shutting the door behind them now. Wilson reached the door, but it locked and he was left yelling through the window.

"House! Greg!"

House paused briefly at his name, but didn't turn around. He kept walking even as Wilson pounded on the reinforced glass until he was gone around the corner, out of sight. Wilson turned around and leaned heavily on the door. One security guard and a few other visitors and patients were all watching him curiously, but he didn't care. The stress and emotion of the past few weeks had built up to the breaking point. The tears were flowing freely before he could even think of stopping them and his heavy breaths dissolved into sobs of fear and guilt.

Twenty minutes later Wilson was back in his car, mostly composed now, though his eyes were still red and puffy. He had promised Cuddy a phone call after each visit, so he dialed from his cell phone before even starting the car.

It had been agreed that she would keep her distance, at least during the initial stages of his recovery. Given the nature of the hallucination that brought him to commit himself, everyone agreed it was for the best.

"Did he talk much today?"

"He told me not to visit him anymore. Does that count?"

He heard her startled gasp. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he thinks he's never going to get better and the rest of the world is better off without him!" he snapped. "He thinks _I'm_ better off without him."

"I know this is hard, but it is what's best for him."

He let out a dark, humorless chuckle. "Do you really care what's best for him? Do you really care about him at all or do you just want him to stop disrupting your hospital with his insanity?"

"How could you think I don't care? It's House."

"And that's supposed to mean something? You and House flirt and play your stupid games where someone usually ends up getting hurt and that means that you care about him?"

"What the hell is your problem?" She sounded confused and he didn't really blame her. He was taking all of his frustrations out on her because it was convenient.

"Nevermind. I've had a really shitty day. A really shitty few weeks."

Her voice softened then in understanding. "I'm sorry you've had to go through all of this."

And she meant _all _of it. After taking House to Mayfield, Wilson had carefully composed the story they were telling his team. He was even the one to call Blythe House and tell her that her only child was a psych patient. Wilson had taken care of it all with as little interaction as he could manage with Cuddy. He just didn't know how to deal with her guilt and fear on top of his own.

"I'll see you at work Monday," he said quietly before clicking his phone shut.

He didn't feel like talking or offering any words of comfort to her or himself. He stared up at the building where he had just left his best friend. House was all alone and terrified of what was happening to him. If he had no comfort tonight then why should Wilson or Cuddy? When he did finally start the car he may as well have been on autopilot. Force of habit made him stop and turn in all the right places and in the end he found himself parked in front of House's apartment just as the sun was going down.

He used House's keys to let himself in and turned a light on. He had come there once a week to pick up mail, but never stayed long. Everything was just as House left it, as if he might step back inside any moment, but it felt empty without him. And it matched the emptiness in Wilson. He ran his hand gently over the piano and then noticed a bottle of bourbon and a glass in the kitchen, so he poured a drink. With any luck the alcohol would at least numb him a little. The sink was full of dirty dishes, but for once he didn't have the urge to wash them. Instead he went into the bedroom and laid down. The pillow still smelled like him. It was a combination of his generic shampoo, liquor and a very faint trace of cigars that House only smoked occasionally.

This was as close to House as he could get for now, but it wasn't enough. Wilson kept replaying House's last words to him in his head.

_I would have done just about anything for you, Jimmy._

Despite what most observers believed about the dynamics of their relationship, Wilson held the power and to some degree he had always known this. And a part of him knew when he asked House to risk his life for Amber that House couldn't turn him down. In that moment he would have done anything Wilson asked if there was a chance that it would save their friendship. And Wilson used it against him.

Wilson knew that House needed him for much more than free lunch and vicodin prescriptions. What House didn't seem to know was that need was mutual. They had been friends for so long that it had become a dependency, almost has powerful as the drugs. Though he had never told House, _that_ was why he came back. The reason for returning had been every bit as selfish as the one for leaving had been; he _needed_ House.

How long had he been in love with his best friend? Years at least. Before Julie left. Maybe that was _why_ Julie left. He was always putting House first, thinking of him too much. Was he safe? Was he taking too many pills? Was he happy? Could he really blame her for finding someone else? Maybe that's why Bonnie divorced him too.

House would probably laugh his ass off if he knew that his best friend had a secret gay crush on him. So he'd tried to move on and buried his feelings so deep that even he didn't believe they existed half the time. And then Amber came along. She was his desperate grasp at happiness and though he really had loved her, she could only ever come in as a close second next to House.

House was right that he couldn't handle losing people. The fact that House had been in an accident that night was enough to unnerve him, but when Amber was discovered dying it was too much. Desperation drove him after that. Desperation made him ask House to risk his life. And when it was all over and the dust settled desperation made him push away the person who mattered most. _"Because nobody can take from you what you don't have."_ House was always right.

What Wilson had stupidly not considered in his desperation and selfishness was the emotional pain that he had caused House by leaving. Wilson had made House believe that his life was meaningless to him, told him that they were never even friends. And the guilt now was unbearable. House was away in a mental facility with no cure in sight and Wilson had lost the person who had always meant the most to him.

He had already cried more today than he had since the night Amber died, but he felt the tears coming on again and made no effort to hold them back. An hour later he was asleep on House's tear-soaked pillow.


	2. Part Two

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. I've just had the week from hell.**

**Part 2**

**Week Six**

It took Wilson a couple days to figure out what he was going to do. He stayed at House's apartment all weekend, sulking like a child who has been told he cannot have candy before dinner. Five weeks of watching House miserable, depressed and withdrawn ended in being completely turned away.

Wilson had fallen into a depression himself. He thought he knew how he felt about House, but it wasn't until House wasn't around all the time that he truly realized how much he missed him. For the first few weeks he half expected House to barge into his office, complaining about his team or Cuddy or a patient. He looked forward to House bringing over patient files or scans to check for cancer. The thing was that House could read scans for cancer almost as well as Wilson. There were times when he might need a second opinion or help with details that only an oncologist could provide. But most of the time he only asked for a consult as an excuse to visit in the middle of the work day. And Wilson pretended he didn't notice.

House always needed a reason for visiting. It might be a flimsy one, but it was always there. Maybe it was problem with his team, maybe it was some obscure observation he'd made about Wilson's behavior. Sometimes he completely invented things. Half the time Wilson was sure that he just left his office with no idea what he was going to say and made it up on the short walk over. The truth was that House couldn't admit that he just wanted someone to talk to. He was lonely and came over as often as he did for company. Until House was gone Wilson didn't realize that he was lonely too.

Wilson's connection to House wasn't something that he could easily explain, even to himself. Almost from the moment they met they were best friends. They just instinctively got each other. When Wilson discovered deeper feelings for House it was frightening and different, but not all that surprising. It almost made sense. And there were times that Wilson thought maybe House felt something more for him too. Wishful thinking probably. House had always made jokes about their relationship and there had been rumors about them among the hospital staff, but they were just jokes, able to be laughed off as meaningless.

Even so, there were a few times Wilson was sure that House was using the jokes to try to figure something out. Like there was some sort of question hidden in the joke. He would watch Wilson's reaction carefully and Wilson had to work not to give away his panic in those moments. Had he done something to let his secret out? Had House somehow guessed what Wilson's true feelings were? But then the moment passed and Wilson berated himself for being paranoid.

He knew that his feelings were unlikely to ever be returned. The only way to proceed was to behave as if nothing was any different. If House found out it could ruin everything. He had tried so hard to preserve their friendship by not revealing his true feelings. Now, Wilson reminded himself morosely, House had pushed him away for something entirely different.

Sunday was for moping around House's apartment and watching his TiVo. He still had the final season of _The L Word_ saved, and the machine was still programmed to record _Prescription Passion_. Wilson watched both of them. On Monday, he didn't have any actual appointments, so he went into work long enough to check in on patients and leave messages for his staff and Cuddy. For the past five weeks he had faithfully fulfilled all of his work obligations just as he always had. Despite the stress of worrying over House's situation he tried to ensure that it didn't affect his job at all. But now, for the first time in years, he blew off a work day.

He went back to House's apartment, determined to watch more mindless TV and do absolutely nothing. The pull of depression was strong. It would be all too easy to give in. Instead, his neurotic nature kicked in. He took a deep breath and rolled up his sleeves; he just couldn't stand looking at those dishes any longer. It was the first productive thing he'd done in days and it helped clear his mind and look at the situation objectively.

He could sulk and give up hope, just as House had. And then it occurred to him. House wouldn't listen to him if their roles were reversed. In fact, Wilson had told him to go away before and House's response was to have a private investigator spy on him. So why should he honor House's request? House would push and harass and do what he wanted no matter how much Wilson told him to go away. He smiled, thinking of the irritating chant at the funeral home. _Admit it, admit it, admit it…_ House would be annoyingly persistent. Wilson laughed at the thought that he was actually considering modeling his own behavior on House's example. "What would House do?" He shook his head. It didn't matter now. House needed him, even if he didn't think so, and he owed House this.

Wilson was still his medical proxy and even though House was currently still capable of giving his own consent he couldn't just walk away from everything the way House seemed to expect. Unless House got that changed then he would have an excuse to stay somewhat involved. The only real length of time that they had ever gone without speaking was after Amber died and it hadn't been hard on both of them. Wilson had promised to visit once a week and at the least he could keep his word. Whether House liked it or not.

When Wilson arrived at Mayfield the following Saturday, House scowled at him. He'd asked that they not tell House exactly who his visitor was and the man didn't look happy about it. Wilson saw him look toward the door, judging if he could make the escape. Since being off his vicodin his leg had been in a lot more pain, which had made walking more of an effort than it used to be. Given the distance between him and the door and the rate at which Wilson was approaching, he must have decided that it was more trouble than it was worth and settled for giving dirty looks.

"I told you to stay home, you moron."

Wilson shrugged, knowing that House was feeling both irritated that he was here and embarrassed about what he had said the previous week. "I know, but I didn't feel like it."

"Always a sucker for a lost cause."

"Yes, I am. But if you were a lost cause I would stay home crying about it and feeling sorry for myself. Hell, you know me; I might even pick up a cute brunette with size D's to tell my pathetic story to. I could get some really great sympathy sex." If looks could kill Wilson knew he would be a goner. "You are not a lost cause and I will not allow you to become one. If you're going to get better you'll need a friend."

"I told you I don't want to see you."

"I think you do." Wilson paused under House's glare before continuing carefully. "I think you don't want _me_ to see _you_."

House couldn't suffer the indignity of losing his mind in front of his best friend.

"Oh aren't you clever," he replied acidly. "If you're so intent on hanging around mentally ill people go spend the day with your little brother. Don't you owe it to him after letting him wander the streets for fifteen or so years?"

Wilson took a deep breath. He knew House could play dirty if he really wanted to. This wasn't even scratching the surface of the terrible things he could say.

"Quit deflecting."

"No really. You don't really owe me anything. Your brother on the other hand… Well, you _did_ hang up on him when he needed you. What kind of douche bag does that?"

"Only the kind of douche bag who puts up with assholes like you apparently."

"Ouch, that hurt. So tell me, if I stay in here for say the next five years, what does that translate to in Wilson wives? God you'll have at least a couple more failed marriages behind you by then, right? You better go get a start on it. I hear there's a bar not far from here that has lots of easy women."

Wilson tried not to show how much that did actually hurt. He knew House was actively trying to hurt him and he knew why.

"A few months ago you accused me of pushing away the person who mattered most so that I couldn't get hurt. Aren't you doing the same thing?" House only continued to glare stubbornly. "I'm going to come here every week. And when this is over and you're home, if you still want me to go away, then I can do that, but I won't leave you when you need me." He paused again and offered a small smile. "Feel free to comment on my pathological need to be needed."

House didn't comment though. "Feel free to waste your time if you want."

He sat back with his arms crossed, stubbornly refusing to comment further at all. Wilson was just thankful he didn't get angry and throw him out. Perhaps deep down House knew he needed a friend. When it came right down to it, they would always need each other.

**Week Seven**

House behaved as if the previous two weeks hadn't happened at all. Wilson could tell that on some level he was appreciative for his presence, but it just wasn't the kind of thing that they talked about. He wasn't expecting any thanks from House and for possibly the first time, he didn't really want it. Instead Wilson kept him mildly entertained with stories of the hospital, mostly of absurd clinic patients and the most recent gossip involving Wilson's new secretary and a radiology technician. The rumor was that an orderly caught them having sex in the MRI room, but it wasn't officially reported or confirmed. House grinned as he described to Wilson how to go about catching them in the act.

"Why would I want to do that?"

House shrugged. "Didn't you tell me that your secretary is hot?"

He had, in fact, though Wilson didn't know that House was even paying attention then. She came to work for him two weeks into House's stay at Mayfield and Wilson had only mentioned it as one of his many attempts to engage House in conversation. She was actually quite lovely, but for once Wilson honestly hadn't paid much attention. There were too many other things on his mind.

They kept the conversations light and amusing for a while, catching up on monster truck news and whatever else seemed mundane and meaningless. When everything but the weather had been covered Wilson let House amuse him by making fun of the other patients and it occurred to him how normal it felt, how normal House was acting. If there hadn't been security doors and guards maybe this would be like any other afternoon with a friend.

It was nearly the end of visiting hours when Wilson mentioned the latest case in the Diagnostics Department. Their conversations about the hospital had carefully avoided anything having to do with House's team or Cuddy. Wilson wasn't sure how he would feel about Foreman being in charge, so it was really by accident that mention of the case had slipped out. House went into full diagnostic mode, asking a wide array of questions about the patient's status and the results of the tests that Foreman and the team had run.

"Lyme disease," House announced finally.

"You can't diagnose a patient from here."

"But I just did."

"You haven't seen her scans or any of the blood work."

"You just told me."

"Did you hear me say there was a rash?"

"Twenty or so percent of patients never get the rash."

"You've ruled out Lyme disease as a diagnosis before because of the rash. Now suddenly it's not an important symptom?"

House shrugged, unconcerned. "It didn't fit before. It does now."

"Yes, but—"

"When you leave here, tell Foreman to run the damn test as a favor to humor his sick boss. When it turns out I'm right then you can tell me how brilliant I am even when I'm completely insane."

House was grinning madly and Wilson found himself laughing. Sometimes it felt like things were all better. But they weren't. House was still seeing hallucinations, although Dr. Beck told Wilson that they were getting less frequent and not nearly as disturbing. Still, Wilson could see the effects. There were abrupt pauses in conversation and House looked at things that weren't there. It was maddening to not know what was going on inside House's head. How many times had Wilson wished he could go inside there for answers? He wanted to solve the mystery that was House, but every time he felt he was getting close there were new clues that contradicted earlier ones. Why were the hallucinations there? What did they torture him with? Though Wilson understood that seeing hallucinations had to feel something like being haunted, there was something more to House's reaction. They weren't just startling or annoying. When they spoke to him the hopelessness in his eyes scared Wilson more than anything that had happened in the past two months.

**Week Eight**

It had been an extremely quiet visit this week. When Wilson first arrived he announced that House had been correct about the Lyme disease, but even that hadn't made him feel much like speaking. They were back to making awkward small talk in between the even more awkward silences. Wilson noticed scowling glances cast to the side and more strange pauses in conversation than usual and knew that the hallucinations were still at work. They must have been worse today. House was doing his best to make it seem that everything was normal, but it was obvious to Wilson what was going on. Finally House cringed at something that his subconscious had said and Wilson couldn't stand it anymore.

"What do they say?"

House was startled, apparently believing that his hallucination was one subject that Wilson considered off limits. And it didn't appear as if he was going to actually answer. Wilson scrambled for something to change the subject to, but came up empty. Thankfully House decided to speak.

"How do you know what's real?"

Wilson wasn't sure if it was supposed to be rhetorical or not, but he didn't have a good answer anyway.

"How can I tell anything is real? What if I'm making up all of this? What if you're not really sitting there? What if I'm creating this whole conversation?"

"Is that what they're…?" He frowned, thinking up an answer to House's question, but came up with the most obvious and unconvincing. "This is real. I'm real, House. I'm here."

House shrugged. "I thought Cuddy was real too."

"Well… That was before you got help."

"I thought I was getting help. That was the whole point."

Wilson thought for a minute searching for the right words to help his friend. It was a good question though. House's sense of reality was completely destroyed before he came to Mayfield. How could he know for sure that it wasn't more delusions? Then he had it. "It was too easy. You got clean, you got rid of the hallucination, you were nearly pain free and you got the girl. It was simple. That's how you know this is real. Has anything been easy since you got here?"

House looked down at his hands. "You're here though."

"Yeah?"

"That's what they say. They say why would you be here?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He glanced over at the hallucination again and then shook his head.

"I'm here. Don't worry about why. Being here in this hospital is the hardest thing you've ever done. Even the most masochistic part of your subconscious wouldn't make that up."

House nodded and looked away. It may not have been the best answer in the world, but it was the best one that Wilson could give him for now. Unfortunately, although it may have comforted House, it opened up a world of guilt and shame for Wilson. Was House really questioning that Wilson would be there for him? Did he think so little of himself and their friendship that he might have to imagine a friend staying by his side? Wilson knew that it was his own fault. He had once put Amber's life above House's and then walked away as if it meant nothing. And both of them still lived with that knowledge every day.

**Week Nine**

"I need to tell you something."

House looked up at him questioningly. Their visit had been going so good and now Wilson was getting serious.

Wilson waited, gathering his nerve. Every week he told himself that he was going to say it, but nothing ever came out. He wasn't sure how House would react to it and he didn't want to ruin all the progress he was making by upsetting him. Not that House was so fragile; it was just that Wilson was scared. He even went to House's psychiatrist for advice about how to handle it. Beck encouraged him to do it.

"Forgiveness is an important part of the healing process," he had said. "For you and him."

Forgiveness was another thing they didn't talk about. They both expected it without asking for it. He took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry." House frowned at him and he rushed to clarify. "I'm sorry about asking you to risk your life to save Amber. I was so scared and frustrated and I had no right to ask you that. Your life is _not_ less important to me than hers. I was really happy with her and I was trying…" he let out a humorless laugh, "so desperately… to hang on to that. I just… thought you should know."

The thing about being in this place was that there were different rules here. In Princeton there were many things that always were left unsaid. Their relationship was built, at least partly, on things unsaid. The _I'm sorry_'s, just like the _I love you_'s, were only implied. Here the words poured out of him easily, though leaving him feeling somewhat exposed.

House was silent for a long time after that and Wilson didn't know what to say that could possibly help. Just as he was considering just ending their visit, House turned to him. His eyes looked suspiciously misty, but no tear was shed.

"It's okay, Wilson. I'm… I'm sorry too. It was my fault."

"But it wasn't. I told you I didn't blame you."

"And about a minute later you told me we were never friends."

Wilson could feel the burning shame. He could apologize for the rest of their lives and never remove it. And he would never erase from his mind the image of House's face when he tried to end their friendship. That broken, devastated look would haunt him forever. Just because nothing else he could possibly say was adequate, he offered the only answer that House would actually appreciate.

"Everybody lies, right?" He shrugged. "I was an ass."

House nodded in reply, but didn't seem particularly reassured. Wilson felt better, having gotten it off his chest and hoped that House would too. Maybe it had just come too late. But then he thought of something else.

"Is that why you see Amber? You still feel guilty?"

He shook his head, but then seemed to change his mind and shrugged. "Maybe."


	3. Part Three

**Author's Note: This would have been done days ago, but it sucked and on the millionth edit I decided to rewrite half of it. I hope it works now. To make up for it, Part Four will be posted very shortly.**

**Part 3**

**Week Ten**

They were actually outside for once. It seemed that every time Wilson had visited it rained, just like that first day, but the sun had finally come out. There was not a cloud in the sky and it gave the hospital grounds an almost happy feel. After getting the okay from Dr. Beck, Wilson brought lunch from one of House's favorite places in Princeton and they sat at one of the tables in the large, fenced in yard.

"My shrink says I have unresolved feelings of anger toward my dad," House said suddenly in his usual mocking tone.

Wilson's eyebrows rose. It was grossly unlike House to talk about his session with Dr. Beck. The entire time he'd been there they never even mentioned his treatment program beyond what drugs he was on. But whether House really wanted to talk about it or if he was just taking the opportunity to complain about psychiatrists, Wilson was more than happy to oblige.

"I'd say he's probably right." House rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know it's such a cliché to go to the shrink and blame your parents for everything, but you stole the guy's DNA at his funeral. I'd say that _could_ indicate some issues."

House seemed to consider this for a moment and then smiled mischievously. "You should have seen the look on his face when I told him about that. I think he wanted to ask why someone hadn't brought me here sooner."

Wilson grinned. "Well he doesn't know you very well, does he?"

"Aren't shrinks supposed to be more shock-resistant than that?"

"They _have_ heard it all," Wilson nodded and then added dryly, "You should win some sort of award."

"Well, we all knew I win the screwed up award."

Wilson frowned. Instead of succeeding in sounding proud about his ability to shock and horrify the doctor, House let a hint of sadness into his voice that Wilson caught. So House really did want to talk. He just couldn't say it in so many words. Wilson put his sandwich down.

"Define screwed up. We're all screwed up in some way. I'm not denying that you are at least slightly more screwed up than others maybe, but you're not so bad. It could be worse."

"This from the guy who's always trying to get me to change."

Wilson smiled, but then thought about all the times he had told House to change, even tried to force the change. If asked at the time he would have said that it was for House's own good, but Wilson wondered now if it wasn't more to protect his own sanity.

"I don't want you to change," he said quietly.

"Right. Then why the hell do you try so hard to make it happen?"

He shrugged. "I don't want to see you self destruct. And, if I'm honest, there is a part of me that just wants you to stop risking my job and reputation and making me lie to the police for you." He shrugged again, ashamed of his selfishness. "But I wouldn't want to change who you are."

"Is that why you're so passive-aggressive about it?" He reached across the table and grabbed a handful of Wilson's chips.

"Maybe.

House snorted and spoke through the chips in his mouth. "You wanted the good changes without changing the parts that you wanted to keep. You sure you're not the one who needs the shrink?"

"I just want you to be happy for once."

"I'm perfectly happy." He gestured around at their current setting. "What's not to be happy about?"

Wilson let the sound of the breeze and birds fill the silence for a while as he contemplated the subject of change.

"The last day you were at work…" He could see House tense at the mention of that day. "When we were on the balcony overlooking the lobby you said something."

He nodded carefully. "I said a lot of things that day. Most of them probably didn't make much sense."

"You said that I was afraid of you being with Cuddy because our relationship would change. That our relationship would be doomed." Wilson was watching him carefully for his reaction, unsure of how House was going to feel about this particular line of questioning. "You were projecting." House looked away, squinting out at the sunny lawn. "Is that really why you never just asked her out, even before that? Are you afraid of all change or just of changing our friendship?"

"I'm _not _afraid. It wouldn't have worked with her anyway. It's just… we're too different."

"But you're not. You're both doctors, you both like each other. And she's about the only person on earth who can tolerate you long enough to have a relationship."

"Aside from you."

Wilson took a moment to do some fast thinking. This was not the time or the place to talk about that, but he found his heart was accelerating the way it always did when House jokingly implied that they were in some way like a couple. But it was true, wasn't it? House was his longest adult relationship and he was House's.

"Yes, well we weren't talking about me."

"Weren't we? It was about not wanting what's between us to change."

It seemed like House might be fishing for something, but Wilson wasn't completely sure what and didn't want to risk guessing wrong, so he just continued with what he was already thinking.

"What you said… I didn't think much of it then. Honestly I thought you were just rambling to avoid having a real conversation. Since then it really helped me make sense of things. That was why you were so confrontational with Amber… with anyone I was interested in…. You didn't want it to change things?"

Wilson trailed off, hoping that House would say something that would indicate what he was thinking. House didn't help him out though. He just sort of sat there and didn't say anything for a while. Wilson was beyond frustrated, but something had occurred to him that week that he had to have confirmed.

He was at House's apartment to pick up mail and, as had become habit, he ended up staying the night there on the couch. He knew that it was pathetic, but he was lonely and being in House's place eased the loneliness. But while he was lying there, once again overanalyzing the situation, he realized that there was a very good chance that he wasn't the only one who had thought of his friend as more than a friend.

House was an obsessive bastard. He was nosey and rude and had an opinion about absolutely everything, whether it was his business or not. But when it came to his relationship with Wilson he went above and beyond his usual. Wilson knew that he was House's only friend, but sometimes it seemed that maybe there was another reason he didn't want their relationship to change. Maybe it wasn't change itself, but the kind of change that involved Wilson dating.

Wilson took a deep breath and tried again.

"You're my best friend, House. You always have been. Whatever changes in our lives, it won't change that."

"You honestly think that Cuddy and I should date."

"Why not? It would involve you behaving like a human being to her and possibly not sabotaging her office, but I think you could manage it. You've done relationships before."

He shook his head. "It would start hot and end ugly. I'd hate her baby and then she'd hate me. And try to make me a lovable, cuddly version of myself. You're the only one who can put up with me long term."

He said it simply, carefully void of any suggestion, but he glanced back up at Wilson for his reaction. For his part, Wilson kept his face neutral. House didn't need to know that his heart just might pound through his chest. He weighed his next words carefully, adding just the right amount humor so that House could laugh it off if he wanted, but wouldn't think that Wilson was laughing at him either.

"Yeah, but that's irrelevant, unless you wanted to date me."

"I didn't say that," he retorted defensively.

"I didn't say you did."

House wouldn't look at him and the tension between them was suddenly thick. He had definitely hit a nerve.

"Just so you know," Wilson began carefully. "I wouldn't have been… offended if you _had_ said that."

House finally did look up at him with wide eyes that quickly narrowed in suspicion. "Exactly _what_ are you saying, Wilson?"

Wilson hesitated, unsure of how to continue or how much of his feelings he should reveal. Unfortunately, House interpreted the hesitation wrong.

"What did Beck tell you?"

"What?" He had absolutely no idea where that question had come from, or why it was asked with such venom. "Nothing."

"Bull shit!" House was trembling now. "Do the two of you get together just to talk about how nuts I am this week?"

"You're not making any sense. Beck didn't say anything to me. Our conversations are kept to a minimum. Some of us take confidentiality seriously."

"Then why would you say that?"

"Say what?" Wilson had to think back now to what had started House on this angry tirade that had taken him completely by surprise. "You said that I… and then…" It seemed like it was taking longer than normal for the last piece to slide into place. "Oh. Oh god. House?"

House, always a couple steps faster than Wilson, paled as he realized at once that he himself and not Dr. Beck had given away his secret. Beck had never so much as hinted at what House said to him in their sessions, but given House's reaction to Wilson's tiny allusion to his own feelings, he could now guess at some of what House had talked to his shrink about.

House looked sick and Wilson glanced around looking for help nearby if it was needed. Most of the orderlies were all closer to the building where the majority of the patients stayed. He and House had picked this particular table because it was rather private.

"House, say something to me."

He just shook his head, unable to make eye contact. Wilson wondered if he might be having a panic attack.

"House, it's okay. Do you hear me?"

"It's okay? How can you say that?"

"Because it's the truth. Whatever you thought he told me, it's okay. We can deal with this."

Wilson leaned forward trying to capture House's attention, but the man only backed away more. He was regarding Wilson cautiously, as if he might a rabid animal and shook his head.

"This is _not_ okay," he muttered softly. "As if you needed more of an excuse to run away."

"Look at me, House." He waited for the hesitant eye contact. "I'm not running anywhere."

House didn't answer and quite obviously was not comforted at all.

"Maybe there is a reason why we keep coming back, why both of us are afraid of losing the other."

There. It was out. Maybe he didn't completely come clean, but it was an acknowledgement of both their feelings and that at least was different. House still wouldn't make eye contact though.

"Wilson… The last thing I need is your insanity on top of my insanity."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm trying to deal with this and move on and you have to go and start talking like this?"

"But if there's something about you and me that you need to deal with, don't just bury it; tell me."

"Don't you get? I can't! Not now. Maybe not ever."

He got up abruptly and headed back into the building. Wilson knew he was dismissed for the afternoon. He wondered if he should speak to House's doctor before leaving and explain the damage he may have done. Despite his embarrassment, he cleaned up their lunch and went in search of Dr. Beck. A familiar nurse was just inside the door in the visitors room. Her name was Annette. She was always working when he visited House and she always smiled and greeted him.

"Excuse me, do you know if Dr. Beck is in? I'd like to speak to him or leave a message if possible."

"Oh, he's here, but he's probably in a session right now with your friend, Greg."

"With Greg? I was just with him outside."

"I know. I let him back into the ward. He was going to Dr. Beck's office."

"Great." Wilson figured he must have upset House even more than he thought, but Annette must have read it on his face.

"Is something wrong? He does that every week, so I didn't think much of it."

That stopped Wilson. "Every week?"

"I probably shouldn't have said anything."

She seemed embarrassed at revealing something confidential, but Wilson desperately wanted her to elaborate a little. So he put on a friendly, possibly flirtatious smile.

"Greg sees his doctor every Saturday?"

She smiled back shyly and nodded. "It just started a few weeks ago. He was upset and went to Dr. Beck's office on his own. Since then they've met every week. Usually right after you leave."

"Why?" He knew it was a dumb question the minute it was out of his mouth. Annette certainly wouldn't know that.

"Do you still want to leave a message for Dr. Beck?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Thank you."

With one last parting smile Wilson made his way quickly to the front of the building and out to his car. He had fucked up massively, he knew. But now there was this other piece of information nagging at him. House went to see Beck every week after their visits. What did that mean? He knew there was a damn good reason for House needing to talk to someone this particular afternoon, but every week?

Wilson started his car and began his long drive home, mentally kicking himself the entire way. He could have set House's progress back weeks. And yet, there was a tiny little voice of joy inside him that said it was okay because House felt something for him too. He squashed the voice down, silencing it. This was not a victory. He didn't even know what it was. There was no way he was going to let this get in the way of House's recovery.

Wilson couldn't figure out how things went so wrong. Obviously House had shared private feelings with Beck and when Wilson opened his big mouth, House mistook it for something else. Maybe he thought Wilson was trying to make him feel safe enough to talk about his feelings. He was, but not because he already knew. The entire conversation felt like House was hinting at something, like he wanted to know if Wilson felt the same. Then he said he couldn't deal with it.

Desperately in need of a lifeline, Wilson decided to phone a friend. Dr. Wong was an old buddy from college, and though they were never extremely close, Wilson made a point of keeping on good speaking terms with everyone. What's more, Wong had recently accepted a teaching job in Princeton. They kept saying they would make time to have lunch and catch up, but it hadn't happened yet. Wilson decided that Monday was a perfect time.

"I was surprised you called. I've been here for three months and I've hardly heard anything from you."

"I'm sorry. It's been a busy three months, Alex. And actually… I do have a small problem and need advice."

"I figured. It's one of the hazards of specializing in psychiatry. Though I imagine it's better than everyone_ you_ know asking you to take a look at their moles to check for skin cancer."

Wilson smiled awkwardly, wondering how to begin. _You see, I have this friend and he has a friend and…_ No, if this was going to work it couldn't be totally anonymous.

"Can we call this a doctor-patient consult? I really can't have this going beyond this table."

"This must be good. Sure, if you pay for my steak it's a deal."

"Done. I have a friend." Wong raised an eyebrow. How many times had he heard people describe the problems of "a friend"? "No, really. He's a very close friend. He's had some emotional issues lately that he's… seeking help for."

He continued by describing a little bit more about House, without actually using his name. And after reassuring himself several times that Wong was professional enough to not repeat any of this, he began to explain the recent problems House was having. He referred to the hallucinations as being caused by a medical condition. Wilson wasn't sure if Wong had already figured out who the mystery friend was or not, but he knew if he mentioned Vicodin, then it wouldn't take much more deduce correctly. Finally, Wilson finished his story, leaving out only some minor details.

"You said you just guessed that he was hiding feelings for you?"

"After a decade or more of innuendo you start to figure things out."

"And you guessed correctly by the sound of it."

"So what do I do?"

"What do you want to do?"

Wilson hesitated. "I just want him to be happy. I want him to get better."

"But you're having a hard time understanding him."

"That's pretty much why I'm here."

"The two of you are close."

"He's my best friend."

"And now you think he wants more. That maybe that's part of why he's sick."

"Or couldn't it be the other way around? Maybe the only reason why he thinks he has feelings for me is that he's sick? We are really close and in his confusion, maybe he's just made that into something more in his mind… as a way of dealing with everything."

"No, I doubt it."

"Why?"

"He's getting better, right? The hallucinations are more or less gone and he should be thinking clearly again."

Wilson nodded.

"Then I would guess whatever feelings he has currently for the people in his life are true. You said he is extremely uncomfortable expressing his emotions, right? So you don't really know what he was feeling before. All you have to go on is what he says or doesn't say now."

"So you're saying that he's in love with me."

"I'm saying that what he feels for you or anyone else predates his hospitalization. Most likely."

"Then what about his delusion that he seduced our female coworker? If he's so in love with me then why was his delusion about her?"

"You know that without talking to him myself this is all speculation. I can't know for sure. There are different kinds of delusions, caused by different things. You said he had hallucinations first, in which he knew he was seeing something that wasn't real. I'm sure he was sufficiently disturbed by that, felt like his entire world was ending. The hallucination morphed into a pleasant little scenario in which the world was perfect. He was happy about his perceived reality, felt like things were coming together. When we create a delusion as an escape we create the reality that is most pleasant, psychologically speaking. I assume he's never given you any reason to believe he's anything other than straight?"

"Aside from innuendo, no."

"Sexuality is one of the scariest things some people will ever have to face about themselves. Gender roles and sexual stereotypes are so ingrained in us from birth that it feels at times impossible to break free. Men are told from the beginning how to be men and what 'normal' is. Hell, I grew up on John Wayne movies. Talk about not being able to live up to expectations…" He chuckled. "It's not pleasant to question that. For most people a homosexual delusion would internally raise more issues than it actually solves. We bury homosexual feelings so deep that sometimes we don't even know they are there. I think that a delusion involving a strong, beautiful, intelligent woman is a more pleasant scenario for a middle-aged, presumably straight man. Anything else is just too confusing."

"She was safe," Wilson concluded. It was starting to make sense. He wasn't sure if he was ready to believe that House actually had feelings for him, but Wong's theory was something to think about. He thought of House's dad, the strict Marine. No, there would be no room for questioning anything outside of "normal" in that house. Whether House liked to admit it or not, his dad's rules and attitude were still with him. "Couldn't he have hallucinated her because he really does want her?"

"Sure. Anything's possible. But combined with what you told me about the conversation with him, I'd say that it's not specifically about her or you or anyone. What he really wants is to feel happy, normal. He's lucky; most patients have terrible delusions. Their subconscious is set on torturing them. Instead, his mind wanted to get away from whatever pain he was experiencing in this life so it created a new one."

Wong was studying Wilson carefully as he processed all of this. "You have feelings for him too."

There wasn't really much point in hiding it anymore.

"I thought so. He's lucky."

"How?"

"You're really taking the time to figure this out. You care enough about his mental health to come to me about it. Even though, you have to know that it's probably going to end badly."

"What do you mean?"

"How do you think this is going to end, James? You confess your undying love for him and he for you and then you ride off into the sunset together? Except that he's institutionalized and working through what sounds like a lot of other emotional baggage."

"I know. It's not like I'm going to try to start a relationship with him now. We can't now… if ever. Maybe I shouldn't even visit him so much."

"So he can think that the man he loves abandoned him?" Wong smirked. "And once a week is not 'so much.'"

"Then how do I see him every week and pretend like none of this happened?"

"Don't pretend. Talk about it. Be honest and be especially honest about why nothing can happen right now."

Their lunch was drawing to a close when Wong had one more question.

"I just have to know, if you've had feelings for him, why didn't you say anything before he was in the hospital? Why now?"

"I don't know why now. But before… well, you said yourself sexuality is a scary thing to face."

Wilson was determined to get this matter settled as quickly as possible. As soon as he had finished his lunch with Wong, he called Mayfield and scheduled a meeting with Dr. Beck for that afternoon. He then cancelled his afternoon appointments, feeling only a little guilty for blowing off work again. House was more important.

Dr. Beck's office was comfortable. Not too bright and cheery, but warm. He imagined House would have felt right at home here.

"I wasn't surprised to get your call, Dr. Wilson. I thought you might want to see me."

"Did House tell you about our conversation, Saturday?"

Beck nodded.

"I just wanted to know if he's okay. I know you can't tell me anything else, but I really need to know that I didn't mess up everything."

"He's… shaken up, but no, I don't think you messed anything up. He's fine."

"Do you think maybe he needs a break from me? I could back off."

"Why would you do that?"

"Well after everything that happened Saturday… I did a lot of thinking and even talked to a friend of mine. But the more I think about it though I think maybe he would do better, recover quicker if I wasn't around."

Beck frowned. "Did you know that you're his only visitor?"

"The only other people who know he's here is his mother and Dr. Cuddy. His department has been told he is having problems with his leg and is on medical leave. He would never be able to face them again if they knew the truth."

"His mother doesn't want to see him?"

"He won't see her. I think he only let me contact her because he was so out of it on the drugs. We still didn't know what was wrong or how long he would be here, so I insisted that she should know."

Beck nodded.

"And Cuddy… I've asked a couple times if he's ready to see her, but the way things happened before he came here, you can see how it would be awkward."

He nodded once more. "First of all, he's not that fragile, so don't worry about breaking him. Secondly, out of everyone he knows, you're the only one in a position to help him. He needs you. He needs someone. Don't let one awkward visit stop you."

Wilson considered this. "That's what my friend said too."

"Smart friend."

Wilson decided he may as well talk to House while he was there and get that conversation out of the way. He went to the visitor's area to wait while Dr. Beck sent for House. When he arrived he seemed unsure about Wilson's presence, but cautiously sat in the chair across from him at the table at the far side of the room. Wilson figured it would be less awkward than at their usual place on the couch.

"I didn't tell you to come more than once a week."

"I know."

"This is about the other day. Just let it go."

"I can't. For once we really do need to talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about," he said, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"There is," Wilson replied firmly. "Things were… implied that maybe shouldn't have been."

"Because they weren't true," House said quickly.

He shook his head. "Because no matter how true they may be, they are not what you need to be dealing with right now."

Their eyes locked briefly. House was studying him carefully, making Wilson uncomfortable enough that he had to look away.

"House, you're my best friend. That no matter what else there is, I will be here for you as a friend. It was stupid and irresponsible of me to bring up anything else."

"But there is something else."

Wilson nodded. "Maybe there always has been. But that's not important right now. That has nothing to do with anything. When you're better we can talk about it again, but until then I'm still your friend and I want to be here for you."

House took this in, nodding slowly. "So you're going to keep visiting every week, but we're not going to talk about this? It will be like this conversation—and Saturday—never happened?"

"Until you say you're ready to talk about it, this never happened," Wilson confirmed. "Your recovery needs to be about you and how you feel, not anything that I say or feel."

House nodded once and stood up. "I'll see you Saturday then."

Wilson left Mayfield that day without feeling any better about his situation. He wondered if he'd done the right thing. Was it really better to know that there was something that they both wanted but that was completely off limits?


	4. Part Four

**Part 4**

**Week Eleven**

He wasn't sure what to expect that day. House had seemed more than willing to forget everything that had been said, but would he feel the same after sitting with his thoughts for four days? Wilson did not like to be unprepared for anything and he wasn't sure how House would act now. There was a chance that he would simply act like it didn't happen. Or he may not address it directly, but make more than his usual share of suggestive comments. There was a third option, the one that Wilson was personally betting on. When faced with something uncomfortable, House would generally act out obnoxiously. This involved cruel insults, insane pranks and an extra helping of sarcasm.

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. He really didn't feel like this week could get much worse, but it all depended on House now. When he finally entered the visitor's room House was waiting. He looked about the same. He certainly hadn't been losing any sleep over it, which meant he was doing better than Wilson was.

"Hey. How are you doing?"

"It's fucking boring in here. The guy in the room next to me stopped screaming that the government was trying to take his brain- his meds finally kicked in- so it's been pretty quiet."

Wilson laughed, unsure whether it was really a joke or not. He relaxed a little though, realizing that House was going for option one. Or at least he was trying to. His tone was a very forced casual.

"And the food sucks. You didn't bring anything this time?"

"No, I was running late. I forgot those magazines I was going to bring too. I… uh… lost a patient this morning. I was with his family all morning."

"And you still came?" After everything that had happened in the past eleven weeks, House still sounded surprised that Wilson was there.

"I told you I would, didn't I?"

House nodded, seeming thoughtful at this. Maybe he was finally beginning to trust. "You look like you slept in your office."

Was that actually concern he heard in House's voice?

"I was up with them all night actually. I was called back in at midnight and then got about a two-hour nap on the couch later. He held on longer than I thought he would."

Though Wilson wasn't about to tell House, he'd also had a rather stressful week in dealing with his brother. After making the trip on Monday to Mayfield he had made two separate trips to Trenton to help Danny adjust to his new doctors. Wilson made the decision to move him closer to home a few weeks ago and when the paranoia got bad the only person Danny trusted was his brother. And though he knew he was spreading himself thin, Wilson didn't feel he had the right to burden House with any of it. He was always honest. He really did lose a patient that morning. But House didn't need to know that he already had a major sleep deficit before that happened.

"Get some coffee or something before you try to drive home again." Wilson smiled, touched that House expressed any sort of worry for him. But then House added quickly, "If you get into a crash I'll never get my magazines."

He rolled his eyes. "I will. Cuddy said to tell you hi. And Foreman was asking about you."

"Is he having fun being me?"

"It's been a mess. I think him and Thirteen are going to break up soon."

"Please tell me she had a lesbian affair."

"No, he's currently her boss. It tends to strain a relationship. But as strange as it is I think he's actually starting to miss you. He wanted to know when you would be back."

House nodded. "Normal medical leave under FMLA is twelve weeks or less. Employers are only required by law to hold your job for that long. He probably did the math and figured I'll either be back in a week or he'll get my job permanently."

Wilson took in House's posture, slouched against the back of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. He was genuinely concerned about it and it was only fair, since that was one thing they hadn't really talked about the whole time he'd been in Mayfield. "Cuddy's not going to give him your job," he said quietly.

"You don't know that."

"Actually I do." House looked up at him. "We can both do the math too. She gave Foreman a raise when he took over as temporary head of the department, but she decided to give him more to keep him happy until you're back. It really isn't unusual. The hospital has allowed extended leaves before when one of our doctors burned out and needed a break."

"So they all know where I am and what happened?"

"No," he began hesitantly. If anyone could appreciate the devious behavior he and Cuddy had exhibited, it would be House. Still, he felt awkward explaining it. "We had told everyone that the problem is with your leg. Cuddy and I handled all the paperwork ourselves so it didn't even have to go through the Human Resources Department. According to the leave papers, you are taking part in a pain management clinical trial after your Vicodin detox."

"And people are buying that?"

"Someone did bring up your absence at a board meeting. Cuddy reminded them that your pain is caused by your leg, which the hospital was liable for. Given that, they were more than willing to let the subject drop. Cuddy was actually pretty amazing, you should have seen it."

Wilson glanced up at House to find an expression of shock and disbelief.

"What?"

"You two _lied_ to the board for me."

"You've lied to the board a dozen times."

"_You lied to the board. For me,_" he emphasized. "To spare my pride."

"Technically, Cuddy did most of the lying."

"If they found out it could mean both your jobs."

Wilson shrugged. "They won't."

"You really think this is the sort of secret that stays secret? People are going to figure it out. My team will. I raised them to never back down. They're probably going through your office right now looking for clues as to my whereabouts."

"You think I spent this much time around you without learning how to cover my tracks? I may have left some pamphlets for pain management clinics in a drawer at my apartment. And I have a friend who is willing to do some suspicious acting while neither confirming nor denying your presence at his facility. If the team calls they will probably guess that's where you are."

"And when did you set all this up?"

"The clinic? The day after I dropped you off here. I called in a couple favors and that was all there was to it. I even made sure there was a paperwork and email trail connecting you to the facility, though I made sure it wasn't too obvious. I told you I can cover my tracks."

A smirk slowly spread across House's face. "You sneaky bastard."

Wilson grinned back. "I learned from the master."

The smirk disappeared quickly. "So did my team. You might hold them off a while longer, but they will figure it out eventually."

"Maybe, but we'll deal with that if and when it happens." They were quiet for a moment. "Is treatment going okay?"

"I'm trying to get Beck to change my meds." Wilson raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you remember my feelings about antidepressants."

"But they were working."

He shrugged. "I haven't seen Amber in over a week. Or Kutner, but really she was the annoyingly vocal one, which you know, makes sense."

"Then why change?"

"Everything feels so foggy with them. I'm not thinking as clearly."

"If you go off your drugs you'll get more depressed and then you'll be back on vicodin or worse. Being a little off from antidepressants is a whole lot better than hallucinating. Just deal with it."

"That's what Beck said."

"See? I'm right."

"You're right?" House scoffed. "Just because someone shares your opinion? I guess all those Holocaust deniers are onto something then. I mean, there's more than one of them and they agree, so they must be right, right?"

Wilson rolled his eyes, but House just continued.

"I'm sure you could find more than one person who thinks Paris Hilton's album was pure musical genius, but that doesn't make it true."

"Now you're just being ridiculous."

"In any case, he won't change the meds."

"I think they're really helping you."

"Yes, I'm all sunshine and kittens now."

Wilson laughed. "No, I'd hate to see the great Dr. House become warm and cuddly. You do have an image to uphold, you know. I have noticed a change though." He caught House's sharp look at that. Of course, too much change was not something that House wanted to deal with. Too much change meant changing the way he worked. To House's mind, it could be the difference between being himself or being like any other doctor. In recovering, he walked the very fine line between genius and madness. "A good change," Wilson reassured him. "You're still… you."

House nodded slightly, contemplating Wilson's observation. "But will I be when I go back to work? Before, when something was different, I would miss things. When I was on methadone I missed an obvious diagnosis. When I was going nuts I missed lots of stuff. I missed everything with Kutner."

Wilson shook his head. "No. We've been through this and you're not going to blame yourself for that. Nobody saw that coming. That has nothing to do with your superpowers. It's just randomness of human behavior."

To House that would always be a bad answer though, so Wilson turned so he was fully facing him on the couch and reached a hand across to House's shoulder. "You have not lost what makes you you. All any of this means is that you can be… a better you."

"Wilson?"

"Yeah?"

"You sound like a commercial."

They both laughed.

"Hey," House said, suddenly changing the subject, "have you been over to my apartment?"

Wilson felt his face heat up. He'd been there the previous night before he was paged to come back to the hospital. "Uh, yeah, I've picked up your mail and paid some bills."

"Have you changed my TiVo?"

"I did actually adjust it for the changes in programming. The rest of the season of 'Prescription Passion' is waiting for you when you return. As are two monster truck competitions and a show called 'College Girl Mud Wrestling' that you saved before you left."

House grinned. "You watched that one, didn't you?"

Wilson's face flushed an even deeper shade of red.

"You did! Was it good? They don't let us get any good channels in here."

"Oh, I don't want to spoil it for you."

"And people say _I'm_ the ass. If I never get out of here, will you at least smuggle dirty videos in for me?"

Wilson shivered. He didn't want to think about House staying there indefinitely.

**Week Twelve**

Dr. Beck was at the front desk when Wilson arrived.

"How's he doing?"

Beck hesitated, which was never a good sign. "You should probably see for yourself."

"He isn't having hallucinations again, is he?"

"No."

"Something in your sessions then."

"You should go see him. I have a feeling you can talk him down better than I can." Beck smiled warmly and continued with his work.

Great. House in a bad mood. Wilson glanced at the window. It was still a gorgeous day out and being outside always made House feel a little better. He was waiting in their usual spot, but Wilson didn't bother even sitting down. He swooped in, announced that they were going outside and turned again, expecting House to follow him. He did and they were outside in the fresh air moments later.

The silence was maddening. Wilson could feel the tension radiating off of House. His scowl didn't go away even after going outside and he didn't question the change of location either. Wilson figured he could either do the careful avoidance thing and talk about his own week, or he could face the problem head on. If it was something they talked about in their sessions and upset House this much Wilson could guess what it was about. There were only a couple things that bothered House this much. His dad was one of them and since House already mentioned his dad two weeks ago, Wilson was betting on that being the reason for his current behavior.

"You've had a bad week."

"My shrink has a big mouth."

Wilson shook his head. "He didn't say anything. I can spot your moods a mile off. If we were at work you would have half the staff running for cover."

House narrowed his eyes on him. "My mood is just fine and I'm not going to talk about it."

"Fine."

"Fine? Come on. Don't tell me Jimmy 'Let's-talk-about-feelings' Wilson doesn't want to know every dark detail. You're saying fine so I will offer the information on my own."

"You caught me. So I guess this is the part where I say 'okay, spill it.'"

"No, this is the part where you feel ashamed of your devious ways and drop the subject."

"Oops."

There was a brief pause before House announced, "I'm going to get out of here. I'm checking out. Today. Drive me home."

"You can't just leave."

"Sure I can. Voluntary commitment, so I can go whenever I want."

"Yes, but if your doctor doesn't sign off on it then you can't come back to work. And this has been helping you. It's obviously had some kind of effect if you're so intent on running away from it."

He let silence fall between them again, knowing that whatever House had talked about with the doctor was still festering, but he would never say anything. And he wouldn't answer a vague request for general knowledge either. If Wilson wanted to know something he was going to have to think of a very direct question. Finally he knew which one.

"A few weeks ago you mentioned your dad, that you were talking about him. Is that what this is about?"

House glared.

"What? I'm trying to help."

"Well don't."

"So this_ is_ about him." Wilson thought about everything he knew about House's dad. John liked authority and order. House did not. He went out of his way to defy authority. He'd indicated over the years that he and his dad both had a lack of respect for each other, but Wilson guessed that it was more. "You… don't think that your dad loved you, do you?"

"I know he didn't," House answered without a hint of doubt. "I think that he believed that he did. But I'm not really sure he had the capacity for any real emotion. It's a Marine thing."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Right. Soldiers are just emotionless assholes."

"Not at all. A good soldier can compartmentalize emotions in order to remain calm under fire. It's the only way any of them don't just burst into tears on the front lines. My dad was so good at it that he never showed any emotion at all. Not to me or his wife. It's like an actor who can't get out of character."

They sat down on a bench. Wilson could tell the leg pain was getting to him. The new pain killers just weren't as good as the Vicodin. House seemed a little more at ease there in the sunlight though.

"And your mom?"

"She followed his lead when he was around. When he was off on assignment somewhere she was actually tolerable to be around. When he came back… I wanted to die."

Wilson's lips parted in surprise, but he remained silent. He certainly wasn't expecting that. He was used to stories of John's temper and was never sure how exaggerated they might be. With House, it was hard to tell. Now he was beginning to see how maybe he hadn't taken things as seriously as he should have. Instead of talking to House about it, he just automatically assumed that he was lying. After all, House the adult wasn't very well behaved. Perhaps House the child wasn't either and he just resented his father for sending him to his room. This was different though. He had never heard House say that he wanted to die. This was the kind of naked honesty that he rarely heard from House at all.

"What did he do?" Wilson couldn't help asking.

House shrugged. "It doesn't really matter now, does it? She didn't stop him. And she didn't stop trying to make me _want_ to be his son. Even after he was dead. She said he didn't mean it. Every time he said how worthless I was, he didn't really mean it."

The bitterness was palpable. Before Wilson could think better of it, his hand had moved toward House's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. House stiffened, but when he didn't pull away Wilson relaxed, enjoying a closeness that House would have never allowed if they were anyplace but here.

"She wrote to me."

"Your mom? When?"

"When you first told her I was here and then again last week. She's called you."

Wilson nodded. She had called several times to get updates, but she never mentioned writing to him.

"I was really vague when I talked to her. I knew you wouldn't want her knowing everything."

"I wrote back to her."

This did surprise Wilson. He wasn't really sure House had ever written a letter to anyone, except maybe professionally and usually he had one of his fellows do even that.

"You replied to this recent letter?"

"No, the first one. I just didn't do it until last week. She's so predictable. She wrote back the day she got it. It even had tear stains on it."

He wasn't sure he should ask, but he couldn't help taking advantage of House's rare openness.

"What did you tell her to make her cry?"

"I asked her why she didn't just leave him when someone else knocked her up."

"What did she say?"

"She said that he loved me." He let out a humorless, agonized laugh. "And it means just as much now as it did all those other times she said it."

Wilson sat very still, afraid to move or even breathe, to break this moment because House obviously needed this. He needed to say these things that were buried deep inside. There was a little boy inside there somewhere who only wanted love and acceptance. Instead he had been told repeatedly that he was a disappointment in some way. It was no wonder he clung so tightly to his medical skill and knowledge. It was the only area of his life in which he had never been a disappointment.

"Wilson?" The voice seemed so small that it was a little frightening.

"Yeah?"

"I don't think she loved me either."


	5. Part Five

**Part 5**

**Week Thirteen**

Wilson had visited on Saturday, just like he always did, but for some reason he felt like going back again in the middle of the week. It had been a rough week for House and though Wilson didn't really think he needed to be checked up on he found himself leaving work early and driving to Mayfield. He didn't give House any warning, just showed up, but made sure he was armed with gifts just in case the visit wasn't completely welcome.

"What are you doing here?"

It was asked in a gruff, almost uninterested tone, but he didn't actually believe that House was anything other than glad to see him.

"I was in the neighborhood."

House snorted in amusement. "Right, you were on the way home from work and took a wrong turn. But what the hell, it's only forty miles out of the way; you might as well keep driving."

"Something like that."

"Really, what's up?"

"Nothing. I just felt like seeing you."

"Did you lose another patient?"

"No. It's actually been a good week."

And it had been. Danny hadn't needed him yet and work was going well.

"What's in the bag?"

"Magazines for you." He handed them over to House who immediately started examining them. "There's a couple medical journals in there and some articles I printed off the internet."

House looked up at him. "The entire internet at your disposal and you probably picked something about little bald kids and their chemo."

"Actually, one is more follow-up research to Mass Gen's organ transplant procedures that reduce or eliminate the need for post-op immunosuppressants. I remember you talking about it when they first published last year, so I figured…"

"Thanks." House sounded truly touched and probably unsure of how to even accept that Wilson would go to so much trouble for him. It wasn't like just picking up a magazine. He actually looked for something he knew House was specifically interested in. "But you could have at least smuggled porn in."

"You didn't look far enough through the bag," Wilson replied quietly.

House looked back inside and sure enough, tucked between medical journals was a special magazine that Wilson knew he was fond of. House grinned.

"See, that's why I keep you around. Davis' brother brought him some dirty magazines last week and they've been making the rounds. I never thought I'd use second-hand porn—so to speak—but desperate times call for desperate measures. Unfortunately I was the last one on our floor to get it."

"It sucks when the pages get stuck together, huh?"

But Wilson noticed that instead of going straight for the porn House was flipping through the latest issue of _Soap Opera Weekly._

"And yet you go for the trashy soaps first."

House looked up at him with a "well duh"expression. "I have to find out what happened to Rebecca and Nikolas. Can't rest until I know!"

"You haven't watched the show in months. Do you even know what's going on?"

"That's what the magazine is for."

Wilson shook his head. He had never quite figured out how a man as brilliant as House took such pleasure from something as simple as soaps. Wilson himself could watch them if House was, but he'd never sit down to actually see it for himself and he certainly couldn't remember the story lines. It was all about sex and betrayal and secrecy. He wasn't sure half the time who was sleeping with each other and who was the evil twin of someone who died last season. The fact that House liked it was enough. Wilson decided he could sit there and just watch House happily picking through the magazine all afternoon and it would be worth the hour long drive to Mayfield.

"So how is the week going?"

He sighed, turning the page. "Boring."

"So how is… the other stuff that we talked about Saturday?"

House rolled his eyes. "Of course that's why you came in the middle of the week. I _almost_ believed the 'I just want to see you' bullshit."

"I did just want to see you, but I was also concerned."

"Don't be."

"You said you wanted vicodin. How can I not be worried?"

House threw the magazine down on the coffee table in front of them. "I am always going to want vicodin. According to you and my idiot doctors I am an addict. There is no cure, only recovery. I think there was twelve steps involved or something. It doesn't mean I'm going to start popping pills again."

But he would. Every once in a while when he visited he would notice House reaching for something in his pocket before remembering again that the vicodin was gone. Wilson wanted to believe that House would stay clean, but after so many years vicodin was too much a part of him.

"On Saturday you implied once again that you couldn't work without them."

"I pop pills; you want to talk me to death about it. I stop popping pills; you _still _want to talk me to death about it. I can't win! Out of everything that's happened the past few weeks you pick this issue to push?"

"What should I be pushing then?"

"Anything. I don't want to talk about the fucking vicodin!"

"What do you want to talk about?"

For once he didn't seem to have a quick reply.

"Well?"

"I don't care. Why the hell did you even come here?"

"I wanted to see you. I can go if it's bothering you."

"You always bother me," House responded petulantly.

Wilson didn't really want to deal with House like this. He knew he might not be welcome when he showed up there, so it wasn't really a huge leap that he would leave early. He reached for his jacket that lay across the back of the couch, but House reached out and stopped him.

"I didn't say you had to go."

"Well then you can just say that! You don't have to play games with me."

House sighed loudly in complaint. "Fine, I want you to stay. Happy?"

Wilson nodded. "Sure."

They were quiet for several moments.

"So what should I be talking about if drugs are off limits?"

"I'm sure you can think of something."

"I can think of a lot of things. I don't believe most of them are acceptable to you."

House met his eyes and a silent understanding passed between them. Wilson wanted to talk about _that._ But House wasn't ready for that conversation yet and Wilson had promised that he wouldn't bring it up until he was. There wasn't really much going on, nothing else to talk about that hadn't been covered on Saturday. Wilson climbed into his car after work and set out for Mayfield on impulse without really considering what they would do when he got there.

"How's therapy?"

"You've known me for how long and you really think I'm going to talk about that?"

"No. Just making conversation."

"How's _your_ therapy going?"

Wilson's mouth dropped open silently. It really shouldn't surprise him that House would find a way of knowing everything even when he was cut off from the rest of the world.

"Come on, Wilson. I know you. Your brother's crazy, I'm crazy and you blame yourself for everything. You're either in therapy or you're going to put a knife to your wrists tomorrow."

"How did you know?"

"A couple weeks after I came here you got really depressed. I haven't seen you that bad since Julie dumped you. I'm sure it was bad after Amber died, but since you wouldn't let me around then… And then a couple weeks ago I noticed you were doing a little better. I could tell you had talked to someone. It's either your shrink or you got a new best friend."

Wilson couldn't believe House's accuracy. He hadn't been to his therapist in over a year, but the day after he admitted that he had feelings for House he had called to make an appointment. It had felt great to talk openly about his feelings and little by little he was feeling better.

"I didn't think you'd noticed."

For House to have picked up on the progression of Wilson's sickness he would have had to be noticing it in those early weeks at Mayfield. Right after the detox House became withdrawn. There were times that Wilson wasn't sure if he knew or cared what was going on around him, much less what Wilson was going through personally.

"Just because I didn't say anything doesn't mean I wasn't paying attention."

"Were you… actually concerned about me?"

House shifted uncomfortably. "Well, someone has to look out for you, Jimmy. Can't have you doing something stupid."

Wilson was touched that House was so worried about him. He hadn't really thought that his bad moods were so noticeable to anyone else. He was hardly aware of them himself sometimes. "I wouldn't kill myself, just so you know."

"I said you'd do something stupid. Knowing you you'd end up married again."

That made Wilson smile. "Well, we can't have that."

"Who would be your best man if I'm stuck in here?"

"Exactly." He hesitated. "My therapy is going good."

"Good."

"Yours?"

House sighed and glanced around at the familiar room. "I'm still here."

**Week Fifteen**

Wilson decided to make the mid-week visit a normal occurrence. House didn't ask and they didn't discuss it at all, but he did it and it seemed to be good for them both. Wilson wondered how much longer he would be making the trips to Mayfield. Dr. Beck had been hinting that House would be released eventually, but he was never very specific when Wilson asked for a timeline.

House was doing much better. The hallucinations were completely gone and had been for some time. Every time Wilson saw him it seemed like he was more like himself. He asked about the hospital and patients a lot. He asked protectively about his office and whether Foreman had moved all of his stuff in. It was obvious he was getting anxious to come back. He knew that he was getting better and his confidence was returning. Dr. Beck said that it was a very good sign and a huge change from the defeat that had taken over him ten weeks ago. The old House was coming back.

Given that, Wilson wasn't sure what to make of House grinning like an idiot when he walked in that Saturday. He quickly checked to ensure that his fly was not undone or that his hair wasn't sticking up funny because he wasn't really sure what else could be so amusing.

"You're… happy today?"

"The new lady in group used to be a prostitute." He waggled his eyebrows to convey his point. "The things she'll do for a cigarette!"

"Sorry, didn't bring you any of those this week." He knew House was messing with him. He took his usual place on the couch. "So really, what's with the extra cheery mood?"

"The warden says I can get out of here."

Wilson's heart skipped a beat. "Dr. Beck cleared you? When?"

"Next week if everything goes good."

"Are you sure it's not too soon?"

"I've been here for_ever_!" he whined. "Besides, I can't go back to work yet. He just wants me to ease back into the outside world. I still have to come back for sessions and evaluations twice a week. Which means I need a chauffeur."

"At your service. What did he say about work?"

House shrugged. "Probably about another month of therapy before he'll trust me to be around clinic patients while I have sharp objects at my disposal."

"And they're really gone? The hallucinations?"

"Has the answer ever changed in the million times you've asked that? Unless you're one, then no, no hallucinations."

"That's… so great."

House frowned. "You don't sound particularly happy."

"I'm thrilled, I'm just… I don't know. I guess I'm relieved."

The truth was there were far too many emotions running through him right now. Relief was among them. That was a huge one. There was also a bit of fear mixed in. What if House wasn't ready? What if he got out and their relationship was never right again? They had said too many things now to pretend as they had before. Wilson tried to put his own vulnerability out of his mind.

"So what is the first thing you'll do with your freedom?"

House didn't hesitate. "I'm going to order in from every restaurant I have a delivery menu for."

"You have probably a couple dozen of them!"

"I know. And I'm going to eat it all in one night while watching all the delightful premium channels that I have been denied here. Then I'm going to pass out on the couch and not wake up until one pm."

"Don't aim too high or anything."

"Aw, Jimmy, don't worry. I'll get up and do something productive eventually. I'll have to go out for food and porn at some point."

Wilson laughed a little, but then got quiet again and looked back up at House. For the first time he noticed how closely they were sitting on the couch. Did they always sit this close?

"I'm really glad you're coming home," he said quietly.

House looked cautious. There it was, that thing that was between them now that they didn't talk about. House's face betrayed his fear, a warning for Wilson not to take his thoughts any further. So Wilson looked away, keeping his promise that it would not be discussed until House was ready. House recovered quickly.

"You say that now, but after you have to save my job a couple times you'll wish I was back here where I can be contained and sedated."

Wilson knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but he couldn't let that comment pass.

"You know that's not true."

House nodded, accepting the truth, even if he couldn't verbally acknowledge it.

Wilson couldn't help it if he was a little protective. If the last few weeks had taught him anything it was that they had to appreciate each other more. In dealing with his own guilt over the way he'd treated House in the past he decided something. He would never again let House believe he was anything less than the most important person in his life. Whether or not they ever talked about their mutual attraction, or if they just forever kept things as they already were, they had always been much more than just friends. House would always be the most important person to him.

When it was finally time to end their visit Wilson reluctantly got up, saying he was going to speak to Dr. Beck about the release before actually going home. House nodded, knowing that Wilson wouldn't be happy until he had the whole next week planned down to the moment. Wilson turned toward the door, but House suddenly called him back.

"Um, I'm glad you're a sucker for lost causes."

Wilson grinned in response to House's uncomfortable thank you and nodded before heading off to find Dr. Beck. Wilson had told him weeks ago that when it came time for House's release he would be on hand to help him get settled in. He reaffirmed this now so that Beck would have no hesitations when it came to actually signing off on everything. If all went well, after a few weeks House would be able to return to work.

Wilson excitedly made his way out to his car. House coming home was the best thing that had happened in weeks, probably months, and he had to share it. He dialed Cuddy's home from his car and told her the news. She was almost as thrilled as he was, though he could hear the baby in the background and knew that she was probably too busy to really celebrate.

He honestly hadn't noticed until that moment how strained his relationship with her had been all summer. Those first few weeks he knew that he had taken out a lot of his frustration on people at work. House's team probably got more than their share and he was quickly becoming known as the person to avoid in his own department. Though he kept Cuddy updated on House's condition every week and though they had joined forces to ensure his privacy and extended leave of absence, his interactions with her hadn't been as warm or friendly as they once were. Had he even asked how Rachel was doing recently? It was a long, hard summer for both of them and he knew that she was hurting just like he was. She cared about House. Maybe even loved him, though he didn't really like to think of it that way.

Had he been jealous? House and Cuddy's long-term college crush had never bothered him before. Had it been bothering him now just because the situation had changed? He wasn't sure exactly what House and Cuddy felt for each other. But even if House moved in with Cuddy and they had a hundred babies, he shouldn't let that get in the way of their friendships with each other. He was pretty sure that wasn't going to happen, but the only thing that really should matter is that House was happy.

So he decided to make a peace offering. He bought dinner for himself and Cuddy and appeared on her doorstep a little while later. He filled her in on all that was going on with House and she shared all the little details that mothers always shared about their children's accomplishments. It felt good to connect with someone else again after weeks of his isolated misery.

He knew House wouldn't mind Cuddy knowing, but Wilson hesitated before contacting Blythe. She knew where her son had been, so it only made sense that she would be informed when he returned home. Yet as Wilson held the phone he felt like a traitor. He had gained some insight into the House family in the past few weeks. He realized that all those years that he was scolding House for avoiding his parents he didn't have the whole picture. He still didn't, but now he wondered things. He started connecting the dots and understanding how two people raised someone as troubled and antisocial as House. And given the at least borderline abusive relationship with his dad, he wondered what kind of woman Blythe was to force him into delivering the eulogy.

In the end he called her, but the conversation was very short. He carefully warned her not to contact him, making excuses about him not needing any more stress. He wasn't exactly sure what the deal was between House and his mom, but there would be time to deal with it later if need be. After fifteen weeks House had come too far to let anything get in his way now.

**Week Sixteen**

Wilson cleared his entire schedule for that weekend. He rescheduled most of Thursday's appointments and spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning House's apartment. Not that it really needed it. He had tidied up nearly every time he'd gone there. Most of the time it was just a quick trip to get the mail, but there had been a few nights when he just didn't feel like going home. House's apartment made him feel less lonely, though he would never admit it. In fact, he was determined that House would never know about how much time he had spent there.

He arrived at Mayfield early Friday, unable to stand sitting in one place waiting any longer. As planned, he waited at the car. House had called the previous evening and gave specific orders on his "prison break," as he called it. He wanted it to all go quickly and smoothly and check out without all of Wilson's hovering.

Finally the door opened and Wilson stood ready near the car with House's personal affects. As happy as House had seemed a week ago, now he looked uncertain and maybe a little afraid.

"The last time he was out bad things happened," Beck had said. "It will take a while for him to trust himself."

House took his phone, watch, keys and pager back in silence and Wilson threw the suitcase into the back seat. When they were both inside the car Wilson started to say something, but was interrupted by House's quiet order.

"Drive. Speed if you have to, just get me the hell out of here."

Wilson didn't have to be told twice. The drive was every bit as silent as the one there had been. It wasn't until they parked on Baker Street that House finally spoke.

"It looks different somehow," he said, staring out at his building.

"Everything probably does after sixteen weeks."

He nodded and went to the front door, Wilson bringing his bag with them. House paused before opening the door. Everything seemed to be done in baby steps. Finally he swung the door open and looked around.

"Smells like Pine Sol."

"I may have gotten carried away with the cleaning," Wilson shrugged. "I also cleaned out your refrigerator and went grocery shopping. Just basics: milk, cereal, a couple frozen meals. I thought you might want to go out yourself, so I just got enough for a few days." Wilson paused feeling awkward about his next confession. "I also got rid of all the vicodin. Just so there's no temptation."

"I thought you might. But did you find all my secret stashes?"

"I think so. But just in case I'll have Princeton PD bring over one of those narcotics dogs to sniff it out."

House forced a chuckle, but then his eyes landed on his piano. He limped slowly to the bench and sat down. Hesitantly his fingers ran over the keys, not making a sound.

"I haven't played since the first night I saw her. I was playing when it happened. I was feeling good, or at least better than I had in a few weeks. And it just happened, out of nowhere. I thought it was insomnia."

"It's over now." He watched House stare at the instrument longingly but with caution, as if he was afraid of it. "If you don't play, then the hallucinations win. They will have beaten you. You've come too far for that."

House looked up at him and smiled. "I can always count on you for platitudes."

"That's me," he agreed. "So you going to play?"

"Later. You wanna order a pizza? I haven't had decent pizza in months."

Just like old times; a pizza was ordered, movies were watched and there was absolutely no mention of Mayfield. Around eleven Wilson knew he should be getting home and said as much to House.

"Unless you need me to stay. Or you can stay at my place. Beck said it might be helpful if you did at first."

"Wilson, I'm not nuts anymore. I don't need you to tuck me in."

He shrugged. "I just didn't want to run out on you if you wanted company."

"It's fine. I should get to sleep soon anyway. I'm still on institution time. And the meds fuck with my sleep schedule. I can't stay up till three a.m. anymore."

"What a tragedy." He stood and put on his jacket. He looked back down at House, wondering if there was anything else he could say to put off leaving any longer. He nodded toward the piano. "Are you going to play?"

"We'll see."

Wilson nodded, accepting the answer. He knew it wouldn't do to push House into it. "Call me if you need anything."

"Good night, Wilson."

Wilson let himself out, but just as he was stepping into the street he heard the soft sounds of House's piano beginning. He turned back toward the window and smiled, listening for a moment before continuing to his car. He still had his worries about House. And he definitely worried about the state of their relationship, given the things that had been said in Mayfield. But hearing House playing again made him feel, for the first time in months, that everything was going to be just fine.

Over the next few weeks Wilson did his duty as a friend, helping House get readjusted to being home and then to being at work. They quickly fell back into their routines of poker games, monster trucks and takeout food. House still stole fries from Wilson's plate and Wilson still acted like it bothered him. In some ways, it seemed like nothing had changed…


	6. Part Six

**Author's Note: I really do hate it when I have such a delay between chapters, but life just got insane and I'm just thankful that I could get the last of this story out before the new season. And, as you can tell by the week number, we have skipped forward a bit. Thanks to everyone who has followed the story! **

...**Oh and I just have to say that Hugh Laurie was robbed once again at the Emmys! He's always great, but he REALLY deserved it this year!**

**Part 6**

**Week Thirty-Two**

Wilson was just finishing the last of his paperwork when he glanced out the door and across the snow-covered balcony, noticing House's light was still on. He sighed, wondering if he should stop by. He found that he still worried over House like a mother hen. A few weeks after House's release from Mayfield he was allowed to come back to work. Cuddy and Wilson agreed to keep a closer eye on him than usual, but it turned out to be unnecessary.

Within days of his return, Foreman confronted Wilson in his office about where House actually had been. Wilson knew that it was inevitable that someone would figure it out.

"Do the others know?"

"He's been unsure of himself and withdrawn, so they know something is up."

"Tell them that he's experiencing increased leg pain. They must know that he's off vicodin."

"Look, if there's some doubt that he can handle his job then I need to know."

"He's fine. Just… if you think there's something to be concerned about let me know."

"So that's it? He had a mental breakdown and you're just covering it up?"

That's when Wilson got uncharacteristically stern. He stood up to face Foreman. "You're on record as having been House's attending physician in the past. Any indiscretion on your part _could_ be seen as a violation of patient confidentiality. How do you think Cuddy will handle that?"

"I won't say anything, but if he does something stupid then it comes back on you _and_ Cuddy."

Fortunately for everyone involved, House's behavior had been normal (for him) and his patients had all survived his typical diagnostic process. To the best of Wilson's knowledge, the team never got the complete truth about their boss' sickness. His confidence returned quickly and things seemed to be on their way to becoming normal again. Normal, but just a little different.

To those closest to him there were some small differences. He seemed a little more appreciative of the people in his life. Oh, he was still an ass. He still stole food, pissed off patients and was generally hated by most of the hospital personnel, but Wilson and Cuddy had noticed small things. He thanked Wilson for things more often and seemed to genuinely care when he asked about his day or patients. Wilson even heard him ask Cuddy about Rachel once when he noticed a picture on her desk. It was done without any sarcastic remarks about bad parenting, though he did cover his interest by commenting that he thought the child looked underweight. Still, he did ask.

The only thing that Wilson found he could complain about was the Great Wall of China built completely of tension that existed between him and House when they were alone. True, things appeared normal on the outside. They'd gone bowling, played poker and Wilson had been present for several of House's witty, yet childish rants on the amount of cleavage Cuddy was showing. When they were alone, however, Wilson could feel all the things going unsaid.

There is a problem with keeping a big secret for so long. It wasn't in the actual act of keeping it. It was more in what happened _after_ the secret had been told. As long as House didn't know how Wilson really felt about him it was easy to pretend that everything was normal. It was so easy to compartmentalize and move the secret to a more comfortable place where it didn't interfere. Once House knew the truth, things were different.

And what was even worse was that Wilson now knew that there were some sort of unresolved feelings on House's side too. If he hadn't promised to not bring it up until House was ready, he certainly would have made a move by now. Day after day they were close, working or sitting on the couch watching TV. The urge to slide a little closer to House was nearly unbearable. And then there were House's normal suggestive comments that were tolerable before, but positively excruciating now. When House limped over to his office in the middle of the day, Wilson always wondered if this was going to be the time he would say something.

But he wasn't sure if they would ever address it. It was up to House to decide if he was ready for that conversation, but it might just be one of those things that he would rather forget. He probably just chalked it all up to insanity that they said while he was in the loony bin and it was better left alone. Wilson was beginning to wonder if the whole thing was his own hallucination. He tried to remember that all that mattered was that House was healthy again. They had survived.

He picked up his brief case, shrugged on his coat and locked up his office for the night before making his way over to House's door. He was leaning all the way back in his chair, his feet up on the desk, staring at something on the wall. Pensive House wasn't usually a good thing.

"Is your patient still dying?"

House looked up at him, shook his head and turned back toward the wall. No self-satisfied smirk. No explanation of his brilliance and how he came to the amazing conclusion.

"What does she have?"

"Opportunistic infection secondary to HIV."

"HIV…" he trailed off trying to recall everything House had told him about his case. It couldn't be. "The eleven-year-old?" House nodded. "She couldn't have been born with it. She'd be dead by now, especially if she'd never been diagnosed…"

House gave him a dark look. "I knew there was something not right about the older brother. He came right home from college when she got sick. Stayed in the room with her for two days. Thirteen thought he was being supportive." He shook his head. "He was right here every day and I knew there was something wrong, but I couldn't… I just couldn't get it. Then she flinched away from him when he sat down by her bed."

"Most people would have missed that."

"Drug user. Not symptomatic yet, probably won't be for years. He gave it to her sometime in the last four years he's been abusing her. Parents were too busy at the country club to notice that he liked to get high and screw his sister. And her doctors failed to run an HIV test because what eleven-year-old has HIV anyway? What happened to our cynicism? Why don't just assume that all kids are being abused by older family members? It saves time."

He rubbed his forehead, physically and emotionally exhausted. It was moments like this when he still doubted himself. When he had a particularly hard case he would wonder if there was some other reason why he hadn't figured it out. He would usually end up in Wilson's office, picking his brain to make sure that he wasn't losing it. It was hard for him to remember that sometimes there were just things that he missed because he was human.

"How bad is she?"

House shrugged. "She's started on drugs. Maybe she'll make it. And live the rest of her life on drugs that make her almost as sick as the disease they're meant to treat."

"She might be okay. Adults with HIV are living relatively normal lives with almost normal lifespans."

"Great. Every kid wants to be _almost_ normal. And that's only what's wrong with her physically."

"The physical is all you had a duty to diagnose. You can't do anything more about the rest. And if she hadn't come to you, if she hadn't have gotten sick when she did, the HIV could have progressed and the abuse would have continued. You did what you could."

House nodded reluctantly. "The kids are treating her now. The cops arrested him a few hours ago." He paused, taking in Wilson's coat and the gloves he hadn't put on yet. "You're here late."

"Yeah. Getting ahead for the week. I'm leaving early Friday to go spend the afternoon with Danny and take him his Christmas present."

"You're Jewish."

"It's funny how you don't point out my observance of Christian holidays when _you're_ the one getting the presents."

He shrugged. "How's your brother doing?"

Wilson didn't answer right away. He was still trying to process that House had asked about his brother's well being. House must have followed his train of thought.

"Hey, us nutcases gotta look out for each other, you know."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "He's doing good. Better since his meds were changed."

Danny was still in the facility in Trenton. Wilson still went there a couple times per week, though he was needed much less than when he was first transferred.

"Great." House paused, took his feet down from atop his desk and took a deep breath. "So you wanna have dinner?"

"Pizza or Chinese?"

"No. I meant… dinner. In a restaurant. You know, the kind where you have to sit down, make small talk and leave a tip for the waiter afterwards." When he finished he was peering up at Wilson awkwardly, hesitantly making eye contact.

"Okay…" Wilson suddenly felt extremely anxious under House's gaze and he wasn't really sure why. House had that look-- Oh. "You mean like… a… d-date?"

"Yeah. Sure." He was trying very hard to remain casual, but Wilson could tell he was nervous.

"Really?"

"No, I often ask people on dates as a joke." House rolled his eyes, but the smirk gave away affection rather than true irritation. "I'm actually surprised you held out this long. I'd have put money on you jumping me the first week I was home."

"So why didn't you say anything sooner?"

He shrugged. "I wanted to see how long you'd last before you cracked, but it just got boring."

"You… This was a… _test_? The last few months while I've been wondering if you were going to say anything—if you even wanted to say anything—this was all just a test… for what? To torture me?"

House was smiling fondly as he watched Wilson pacing his office, using wild hand gestures and Wilson stopped abruptly as he realized that he had just completely freaked out. House was screwing with him specifically to get that reaction. He sighed and studied his friend's face.

"Are you sure?"

He shrugged again. "Well, I thought about driving myself crazy all over again wondering when was a good time to ask you, but instead I decided to just say it and get it over with."

"I didn't think you even… I figured that maybe you were…"

"You thought that I was insane and didn't really mean any of it."

"Well, yeah. That, and you didn't really say that much about it anyway, so maybe I just misinterpreted what you _did_ say."

"You didn't."

"There are a lot of things about back then that we don't talk about. I just didn't want to fuck things up by talking about it first if you didn't want to. I was trying to keep my promise to not push you on it."

"Well now I'm the one fucking things up, so let's talk. You're better at this stuff than I am."

"You may find this hard to believe, but this is new territory even for me." Silence fell between them and Wilson set his briefcase on the floor before collapsing into the chair in front of House's desk. He rubbed the back of his neck just for something to do. "Do you really think you're ready to talk about it?"

He blew out a frustrated breath, "Have I given you any reason lately to question my judgment? Aside from the reasons you had way before I went crazy? I'm pretty sure there's not going to be a relapse. And considering how long I've wanted to do something about it, I don't think I'm exactly rushing things."

"Um, how long exactly is that?"

"A while."

Damn House and his evasive answers. "Just so we're clear, _before_ the hallucinations?"

"Yes. Well before that. And you?"

Wilson swallowed nervously. "Before my last divorce."

House smirked. "That long and you had to wait until I was in a mental hospital to say anything?"

"Yeah, well… You're my best friend. You can understand why I wouldn't want to take the chance and ruin it all. It scares me," Wilson confessed. "And you waited this long to say something to me."

House nodded slowly, contemplatively. "And if I told you, what would you have said?"

"I…" he trailed off with a frown. "I would have thought you were joking."

"Exactly."

"When did you know? Besides just 'a while.' I want to know."

House tried to keep his expression blank, but the underlying frown was evident. This was not the kind of conversation he did well at all. He'd already been more open than Wilson normally expected of him. They needed to hurry up and get the talking over with before neither of them could take it anymore. Like ripping off a band aid quickly. When the conversation was over it wouldn't be discussed again. It would just become part of their history, regardless of where their relationship went from there.

He spun his chair so that it he was facing Wilson, though he kept his eyes on his desk, hands folded in front of him.

"There was this one time when you spent Christmas at my place."

Wilson searched his memory. He'd spent several Christmases at House's apartment and probably would again this year.

"It was when you were still with Julie. She had been picking fights and you didn't want to talk about it. You came over instead of going home and we stayed up late eating takeout and mocking all the dumb Christmas classics playing on TV. You were laughing and smiling and I just…" He trailed off with a shrug. "You were happy. And you hadn't been in a while. Happy with me and completely miserable home with her. It was like, no matter who you were with or what was going on I… mattered. I meant something. I never understood that."

Wilson smiled, remembering all the times he put off going home as long as possible just so he could stay with House longer. He reached out and set his hand on top of House's. "You always meant something."

It was sad to him to realize that House very rarely felt like he was important to anyone apart from the world of medicine. He would never fully understand exactly how much he meant to those around him.

House stared down at Wilson's right hand on top of his left. Trembling slightly he slid his right hand to rest on Wilson's. That one small movement was a huge gesture for him. Wilson's heart was beating dangerously fast it seemed. This was something that he had thought about for _years_, but he never really believed that it would happen.

"I have one question," said House, "Why did you keep pushing me at Cuddy if you wanted me for yourself?"

Good question. Wilson wasn't sure if he even knew completely.

"I wanted you to be happy and I thought that she could make you happy."

"You're an idiot."

Wilson smiled. Only House could make that an endearing sentiment. As eager as he was though, he knew that they couldn't just jump right into whatever this was. He didn't know about House, but he'd never been in a relationship with a man before or, more to the point, he'd never had sex with a man. And that was going to be an entire process of figuring out how much they were each comfortable with. He also knew that more than a decade of friendship was at stake if for some reason this didn't work out. It _had_ to work out.

"We should take things slow," he whispered.

House nodded. Wilson figured he had done quite enough talking for the night anyway and he settled for just gazing across the desk at him. House took his hand away, the closeness having become too much, and started playing with a paperclip to keep occupied. Then Wilson suddenly remembered what started this whole thing.

"Do you really want to go on a date?"

And then he saw a look that was very rare indeed. House was suddenly unsure of himself and very nervous. He looked down at the paperclip, concentrating on it a little too much. "It's been a while, but I think that's what people usually do. I buy you dinner and get at least a few glasses of wine in you before trying to take advantage."

Wilson frowned. "I'm the woman in this scenario?"

"Of course. You certainly wear more makeup than me."

He decided to let the comment pass, even though he most certainly _did not_ wear makeup. Chap-stick maybe…

"You know about these things. Aren't I supposed to ask you out? Isn't it in the dating etiquette rule book somewhere?"

Wilson smiled. He was extremely pleased that House was making the effort for him, but he knew that House wasn't the dinner date type of person. He knew from the beginning that this would never be a typical relationship. House wasn't going to change just for him and honestly Wilson wouldn't have wanted him to try. For any of this to work, Wilson knew he was going to have to accept House as he was. And do a better job of it than he had in the past.

"Yes, rule one, subsection A of the rulebook clearly states that it _is_ how things are done. However, amendment three to the rule adds that if the two people in question have known each other for more than ten years, then they can skip the formal date and move right on to Chinese takeout."

House grinned and they stood up. He put his coat on and grabbed his backpack, making his way slowly to where Wilson was already waiting for him at the door. Wilson went out first and they walked side by side to the elevator, just like they always had. House made a thoughtful noise and glanced at Wilson as they stepped inside the elevator.

"You know, if we follow those dating rules then it's not much different than how we've spent our entire friendship."

Wilson smiled, pushed the button for the ground floor and watched the doors slide closed. He then turned to House, set his briefcase down and grabbed the lapels of House's coat.

"I think we can find some way to make it different."

He leaned in slightly and though it felt like House was about to pull away he changed his mind and held his ground. Wilson lightly brushed his lips against House's. Not enough to be a real kiss, but certainly not a mere friendly gesture. He pulled back to look up at House's face, not sure what he would see there. He didn't know how House would feel about this move. His answer was House pushing him back against the elevator wall, bringing their lips together a little more forcibly. As they felt the elevator coming to a halt at the lobby House stepped back quickly and faced the doors. Wilson hurried to compose himself, though the kiss left him a little dizzy and very surprised. He grabbed up his briefcase just as the doors were opening and it could have been like any other night. Nothing looked different. To anyone else they were just two doctors leaving work for the night. They'd done this a million times. Except it was different now and always would be.

A few steps into the lobby House broke their silence. "How about pizza instead of Chinese?"

"As long as you don't order any weird toppings. The anchovies last time were just gross."

"You pick the toppings, but I'm getting bread sticks."

Wilson smiled and nodded as they reached the main doors. He wondered if it would always be this way. Would they always keep this easy part of their relationship while adding the part that they had started on the elevator? Wilson shook his head. There was no choice now, but to continue and accept it. But he didn't think he would have it any other way.

THE END.


End file.
